I had high hopes for blog posts this week.

But this unwelcome little pneumonia bug that made itself comfortable in my lungs had other ideas.

Yes.  Pneumonia.

Ridiculous, right?

Better luck next week.

{c’mon, antibiotics. do your thing}

I’ve been maybe a touch on the spastic side since Jayce’s accident.

More so than usual.

He slept next to my bed for a week.

When I moved him back to his room I couldn’t help but check on him six times before I went to bed.

And even then I turned our baby monitor up so loud (and got used to sleeping in spite of it) that now if it were to break I’d need somebody to crackle cellophane in my ear before I could even think about drifting to dreamland.

Eight days post accident Jayce developed a cough.

Which I swore was pneumonia.

Jeff, on the other hand, swore I was crazy.

As it turns out?

Pneumonia.

Or borderline at least.  The radiologist was noncommittal in the report he sent after reading the chest ex-ray.

Our pediatrician looked at the ex-ray too.  And didn’t want to say one way or the other.  But he did go ahead with antibiotics.  To be on the safe side.

If it is pneumonia, Jayce could care less.  It certainly isn’t slowing him down any.

But still.

Pneumonia.

Pneumonia that would have gone haywire were it not for my hovering.  Hovering which admittedly may border on stalking, were he not my child of course.

The moral of the story?

Yeah.  I don’t really have one.

Just thought I’d share.

Yeah so Jeff was out of town for a business trip again this week.  You may remember how during his past business trips I’ve had issues with the indigenous wildlife.  This week has been no different.

On Wednesday morning during our walk Jayce spotted a snake on the road in front of us.  He pointed at it, saying, “snake, Mommy, snake,” all from the safety of his jogging stroller, surely in an effort to protect his snake-fearin’ Mama don’t you think?   Anyway, upon closer inspection I discovered that it was indeed a snake.  A rattler at that.  A baby one even.  I’ve heard those are the deadliest kind because they are not yet capable of controlling their venom. 

Lovely.

This one in particular wasn’t what I’d call deadly.  He was what I’d call dead.

Just the way I like ‘em.

Moving right along though…

So today I took Torri to an orthodontist appointment.  After returning her to school I was taking the backroads home.  And by backroads I mean dusty, deserted, cacti-infested roads.  Really they could just as easily be referred to as front roads seeing as how they’re the ONLY roads that lead from our rural desert home to the school.  Ah, but I digress.

So I’m driving along doing my best to keep Jayce from falling asleep in the car.  I come to an intersection (if you can call it that) and as I make the turn I watch as a cattish animal crosses the road in front of me.  

I think I can honestly say that since having moved to Arizona four years ago I’ve yet to have a cat cross the road in front of me.  Cats aren’t really outside here much.  I suppose the coyotes keep them at bay.

Anyway, this cat in particular was on the large side.  More like a small dog.  But it wasn’t a dog.  Or a coyote.  I’ve seen my fair share of those too.

When I reached the area of the road where the cattish animal had crossed I stopped the car right there in the middle of the road and peered into the desert.  And wouldn’t you know it was staring right back at me, probably just as curious.

Upon closer inspection I confirmed that it was indeed a cat.  Only not the domesticated kind.  More like the bobcat variety.

So when I got home I googled an image of a baby bobcat.  The pictures I found didn’t look like the cat that had crossed my path.  It’s ears were certainly similar, but not quite right.  And the animal I saw was slightly spotted, not striped.   

Just for kicks I googled an image of a baby mountain lion. 

You know what’s coming don’t you?

Yep.  It was a baby mountain lion.  And that, of course, begs the question: where’s his Mama?

Wherever she is I would rather not make her acquaintance.

And Jeff has always called me crazy when I tell him how I’m scared to go walking in the mornings for fear of being eaten by a mountain lion. 

“There aren’t any mountain lions in our neighborhood.  But you definitely want to be on the lookout because I think the sky is falling.”

Whatever.

And the kids?  The kids find it hilarious that I keep a hammer in the basket of the stroller for just such emergencies.

Who’s crazy now huh?

*Editor’s note: This post is being filed under the “Times I Was Right” category for obvious reasons.

I’m instituting a policy.  I’m thinking of printing it up and handing out copies to the multiple doctors we visit throughout the year.  That way the dentists, orthodontists, ophthalmologists, endocrinologists, pediatricians, optometrists, audiologists, and gynecologists we visit will know my expectations straight up. 

I imagine it will look a little something like this:

Darcie’s Office Visit Expectations

Appointments:
Appointments are made for a reason.  That reason being to save time for both of us.  We mutually agree to take the time out of our busy schedules to sit down for a few moments and discuss the issues that ail me.  Or my children.  And occasionally my husband.  When scheduling my appointment, please do so only after taking into consideration the realistic amount of time it will take to see patients who have appointments before me.  This simple act will go a long way in making both of our days run more smoothly.

With regard to my appointment, please do not ask that I arrive 15 minutes before our appointment time.  That, you see, negates the point.  How about we both are ready at the agreed upon appointment time.  It’s a crazy concept, but I think it just might work.

* Disclaimer – Doctors who keep me waiting past the agreed upon appointment time may be asked to follow me home and wait in my living room until I find a more convenient time for the exam.  This is entirely at my discretion, but it’ll probably be sometime after dinner, and dishes, and bedtime stories.  If you’re lucky I may be able to fit you in before my blog time.

Cancellations
If you scheduled poorly and are suddenly bogged down by a waiting room full of upset patients I kindly request that you call me as soon as you realize your error.  Although 24 hours notice is ideal, if this is not possible, call as soon as you can so that I don’t waste all of my time driving into your office only to be told that you are running really behind and unless I choose to reschedule I will incur a lengthy wait in aforementioned waiting room.

Lengthy Waits
I understand that occasional scheduling oversights can occur for a variety of reasons. When you jam pack your appointment book without regard to the poor saps like me who are forced to entertain toddlers in the waiting room for hours on end, my precious time begins fleeting away like Prozac samples at a depression convention.  I tend to get a tad bit miffed under those circumstances and I do hope you will look the other way when I give up and just let the kids tap on the aquarium glass.  Even if it does give the fish headaches, I trust you will understand seeing as how the fish likely don’t carry health insurance that allows you to bill 60 bucks for a band-aid.

I track doctors who repeatedly show blatant disregard for my time.  I will let the first of such occasions slide.  The second time, I will charge a $25 courtesy fee (and yes, payment is expected at the time of service).  Three strikes and you’re out.  I will let the receptionist know that I am discharging you as a healthcare provider.  You should know that I am not above holding all of your People magazines from the waiting room hostage.  You will have thirty days to turn over my full and complete medical record.  Once you do, I will let the People go.  Unharmed of course. 

I trust that you will make every effort to be respectful of my time and that you agree to the terms and conditions set forth herein.  I look forward to working together to create a healthy and time-conscience environment for the both of us.

Your partner in health,

Darcie

     Jeff says I have a bad habit (I consider it more of a necessity) of giving him driving directions when we’re in the car together.  It’s less that I give him directions really and more that I point to a turn lane here and there or occasionally tap my finger on the passenger side window to let him know that he should be merging to his right.  No biggie.

     No biggie that is until I realized that when the two of us are in the car together he completely relies on me to get us to our destination in spite of the fact that he is the one behind the wheel.  And I know that in that kind of situation the very best thing I can do is smile lovingly at him from my copilot post and go on with the pointing and the tapping.  Unfortunately for me though I’m not best known for holding my tongue. 

     I mean, I legitimately wonder what specifically it is about marrying me that rendered him incapable of doing the things he once handled so splendidly on his own. 

     So I had to ask.  What it is about marriage that makes a man’s brain turn to mush?

     My husband is not quick to anger.  He’s about as laid back and easygoing as they come.  Something about the whole brain to mush comment though really didn’t set well with him.

     Things escalated rather quickly and we went from what I thought was a pleasant discussion to something that didn’t even resemble pleasant.  I ended up pulling one of those moves where I turned as far towards the window as I could without actually, you know, falling out of it.

     The bright side, if there was one, was that I learned why his brain has been mushified.  Oh, and it’s a good one ladies.  One that I’m sure you’ll all appreciate.

     It was my fault.

     Apparently, throughout our marriage he has become accustomed to the tapping and the pointing.  So much so, in fact, that his own sense of direction has all but vanished.  It makes perfect sense really.  Technically, he can get us from Point A to Point B.  That is, of course, as long as nobody minds taking the scenic route and passing by Points G, R, and M along the way.

     So I did the good wifey thing (ya know, for the sake of loving, honoring, cherishing, yada yada yada) and attempted to zip my lip.  I sat quietly by while we piddled around town and wasted countless tanks of gas.  I bit my toungue and let him blaze his own trail even though my trail was far more time and cost effective.  I smiled through gritted teeth as he turned left when he should have turned right.  And he responded well to this newfound driving freedom. 

     I loved the freedom too.  So what if we’re a few minutes late to church?  Who cares that the price of gas has skyrocketed and we’re wasting enough fuel during our excursions to power a fleet of MINI Coopers.  Through it all I kept quiet.  I stood (well, sat really) in silent support at his side as he drove his way back into the manhood that lie in wait behind the wheel.  The glare of the open road, it seemed, freed him.

     It also blinded him.

     By golly he never even saw the cop coming.  Funny, seeing as how from my post right by his side I saw the telltale sirens atop the SUV coming towards us for at least a good 20 seconds.  I mean, between that Sheriff’s SUV and our minivan there were TWO vehicles on a lonely desert road.  I can see how he might have missed it.

     So you must be wondering if the Sheriff was the nicey nicey warning type or the rough and tumble speeding ticket type.  He was the latter.  Jeff spent the majority of Easter Sunday in traffic school.  And seeing as how I am not widely known for biting my tongue you can imagine how well I handled thatlittle diddy.

     We learned our lesson from that one, a lesson eerily similar to other lessons in our past.  I’ll go ahead and put it in writing here so that he we can refer back to it should the need arise.

     I am usually right.  If I am not right, chances are you’ll never know because I will find out before you and I won’t tell you.  It’s best if we just base all of our future interactions on the assumption that I’m right.  Let’s just leave it at that.  M’Kay?